The Epilogue
by Tol Eressea
Summary: Erik has disappeared after letting Christine and Raoul go off together. Now Christine must face many obastacles Raoul's parents, her feelings or lack thereof of Raoul, her feelings for Erik that she's discovering, and...helping Erik?
1. Chapter 1

**Author's note: This takes place right after the musical (not the book) ends. But never fear, Erik is gone but temporarily.**

**Disclaimer: pph! As if I would own POTO. I don't.**

"So he's gone?" Raoul asked Meg Giry eagerly. She nodded, and he gave a huge whoop. "_Victoire_! Though things didn't go quite as planned, we still defeated that Phantom. Kiss me, Christine."

"Not quite as planned?" Meg interrupted. "You do realize that the Opera Populaire's main tenor is dead, and this opera house will likely never recover from the fire and the scandal. Hundreds of people are out of a job and dozens are scarred, both mentally and physically, Christine not the least. Would you agree, Christine?"

"What?" Christine had been lost in thought, thinking about Erik's expression on his face when she gave his ring back to her. Why was she dwelling on that? Oh, of course. It had only happened a day ago. Already, people were bugging her about details about Erik and, to her confusion, various operas in Paris and surrounding areas were already offering her some very cushiony positions, similar to the one Carlotta had held at the Paris Opera. She came out of her train of thought to feel Raoul kissing her. Her gut instinct was to pull back from surprise.

"Oh, don't be worried, Christine, my parents are wonderful people," Raoul said with a grin.

"What?" She needed to stop getting lost in her thoughts.

"I was saying that we're going to meet my parents tomorrow evening. They're not opera goers, so they haven't heard you sing, but I'm sure after meeting you, they'll want to go simply to listen to you!" He grinned.

She didn't agree. If his parents didn't go to the opera, it was probably for moral reasons— no one of Raoul's family's social class didn't go to the opera unless they had a moral objection to it. She had the feeling that they were probably displeased with Raoul's choice of fiancées. After all, she used to be a chorus girl, and rumors about chorus girls abounded. Some of them were even true, though obviously not for Christine- Erik would never have allowed that. She wondered if Erik was dead— she hoped not. Wait, why did she hope not? He was a murderer- an evil man…right?

"Christine!" Meg cried with exasperation.

"What?" Christine exclaimed, surprised.

"You're certainly pensive today. I had asked you if you had a good dress to wear to meet Raoul's parents, because I could go with you to buy an appropriate dress if you like," Meg said.

"Sounds good," said Christine. The dinner itself, however, did not seem very good.

The next evening: Christine was dressed in an intricately sewed white dress with a fairly modest neckline, chosen as to not give Raoul's parents the wrong impression. She also wore a necklace and earrings that Firmin had let her take. Earlier that day he had let her into the Opera House and take what she liked. He had looked exhausted, and commented that he and André were selling the House for a pittance of what they had bought it for. It sounded like they were simply eager to get as far away from the fiasco as possible.

Raoul picked her up that evening from Mme. Giry's home where Christine was staying for the moment. He smiled when he saw her. "Wonderful, my dear," he said. "You look as lovely as the day I recognized you. And now, to dinner."

The carriage ride was mostly silent except for the few remarks Raoul made about his parents, most of them being spectacularly unhelpful for Christine's nerves. He mentioned how pious they were, which wasn't a bad thing, except that piety often came with a dislike for chorus girls. He also mentioned his strict upbringing, and how he thinks the only reason he was allowed to meet Christine in the first place that summer was because he was staying with his aunt at the time.

"But don't worry," he said. "They'll love you!"

How reassuring, she wryly thought.

They soon arrived at the de Chagny's estate. They were let in through a black wrought-iron gate, and, if that wasn't imposing enough, the house itself was enormous- it looked larger than the Opera House Christine knew so well. It had what looked like millions of windows, and the entrance seemed to be designed specifically to look imposing. Raoul seemed to take no notice of this. He fairly leapt out of the carriage, and gave a hand to Christine to help her out. They walked up the steps, hands lightly held. At the top of the stairs, a butler opened the door and bowed obsequiously to the both of them, though Christine could feel him giving her a suspicious side glance.

They walked slowly down the main hall, and soon reached a set of large wooden doors. Raoul let go of Christine's hand and opened the door for her. She entered a large room where the walls appeared to be an unusual shade of light pink or red. At the end of the room was a large dining table, in front of which stood and elderly, noble looking couple—Raoul's parents, she assumed.

"The walls are made of a unique kind of red marble. I see you gawking at them," said the woman coldly.

"Mother! Father! I would like to introduce you to my fiancée, Mademoiselle Christine Daaé," Raoul interrupted gaily.

They both frowned at her. This boded not well.

They all sat down to dinner shortly. Everything was dead silent. Raoul seemed at a loss as to what to do. The silence became slowly more crushing until his father finally said, "So what's all this that I hear about some Phantom? I don't follow opera news, so I was surprised to hear about this." His tone made it clear that he was not particularly glad to hear this news. "I've told Raoul that the opera's a tricky business, but he doesn't listen, foolish boy."

Raoul blushed, and Christine sighed. How would she ever get through this dinner alive? Suddenly, out the window facing her, she swore she saw a mask. Erik?

**Oooh, tricksy of me. Is it Erik? Is she simply insane? What's up with Raoul's parents? Please review and tell me if you care, i.e. if you're interested at all! Thank you!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Author's note: here we have chapter 2, dedicated to ****LonesomeGurlAngelofDeath****, so she won't kill me! I love people who review!**

**Disclaimer: POTO? Nope, still not mine.**

Erik? Was that him? Christine stared at the window where she saw that oh-so-familiar mask. Yes, she could swear she saw Erik's profile there in the window.

"Darling?" Raoul interrupted her concentration.

Christine turned away from the window reluctantly and looked at Raoul. "Yes?"

"Dear, she certainly doesn't look particularly attractive when staring fixedly at nothing like that. And she's so rude to you, Raoul," his mother commented dryly.

"Mother! I'm sure she saw something or other," defended Raoul.

Christine ignored the conversation and looked back at the window. There was no one there, though this didn't surprise her. If it had been Erik, he wouldn't have lingered at the window any longer than necessary. But had it been him, or had her mind simply created the image that was in her thoughts? Even after having seen the face behind the mask, she still saw Erik as the angel, the genius who made her the wonderful singer she was now. He would always be that inapproachable yet very human man.

"What _were_ you looking at, darling?" Raoul was asking.

She looked away from him. "Nothing," she murmured.

A week passed, and Christine found herself in an uncomfortable situation. If she didn't join a new opera house soon, they would all forget her and she would have a terrible time finding a new singing position. But she didn't know where she wanted to go, or what to do. She felt like she was imposing herself on the Girys, and the disastrous meeting with the de Chagnys seemed to be making Raoul more distant, though Christine imagined that was more something his parents imposed on him. And without Erik, she was afraid that she wouldn't be able to sing at her new opera home as well.

Eventually she ended up choosing the opera house in Chartes, just outside of Paris. Entering this new opera house, she felt an odd sort of emptiness knowing the fact that there would be no one to look after her well being. Even without this threat, though, the other singers seemed to be avoiding her, as if there would be some repercussion if they came too close. She was given a room the size of Carlotta's room, which she had caught a glimpse of a few times when she was still a chorus girl, and left alone until she was called to sing.

The first thing she checked in the room, though she chided herself for being silly, was the wall mirror. It looked very normal. For some reason, this disappointed her. Why was she thinking these things? Erik was a murderer, a madman…or was she simply quoting Raoul in saying that? She sat back in a large chair in her room and remembered the first time Erik took her to his underground home…

_"Welcome, Christine, to the home of music."_

_There were candles all around, and in the midst of them there was this man. Her angel…the angel who would die for her…or kill for her without thought. This angel came up to her and gently put a hand around her waist._

_"Come Christine. It is time to sing."_

_They went over to the piano, and oh, how she sang? She sang arias, and he joined her in a duet that no one could fail to be moved by. Even the octave practices he made her go through seemed so much more…intimate, even romantic than before. When she finished singing a simple C major scale, reaching the high C that eluded so many singers, she took a deep sigh, feeling out of breath and somehow ecstatic._

_Her angel smiled. "I think we are done with octaves for now. Let us sing some Schubert."_

_And the echoes of this duet sang in Christine's soul for many days after, along with her angel's caressing words._

"We're ready for you, Mademoiselle Daaé," said some sort of page who had come into Christine's room.

She snapped out of her reverie and followed the boy to the stage, for she didn't know the way yet. There, she immediately felt more at home—things were as chaotic as they always had been in the Paris Opera House, and the male lead singer looked just like Piangi- a fat, older Italian. She suddenly remembered how he had apparently been one of the fatalities, and remembered why she had feared Erik.

"As you know, Mademoiselle, we are performing _Il Muto_. I believe you've performed this work before?" said the composer, noticing her.

She thought back to that fateful performance where she was forced to replace Carlotta after Carlotta began croaking like a frog. "Yes, I have," she responded.

"Wonderful. Let us begin at 'Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh'" he said, and tapped his stand. Magically, the ruckus quieted, and the orchestra began playing the beginning to the song in question. Christine began hesitantly: she hadn't sung sing that fateful night at the Paris Opera.

"Serafimo, away with this pretense!

"You cannot speak, but kiss me in my husband's absence.

"Poor fool, he makes me laugh!

"Hahahahaha!

"Time I tried to get a better better half."

As the chorus sang, she rubbed her throat. Her voice was terribly scratchy. What was happening? Why was she singing as terribly as she was now? She noticed the other singers giving her side looks, seeming to say 'She is so famous…why?'

When it same time for her to begin singing again, she missed her cue, remembering how Erik had interrupted the performance with his indignation at his box being taken.

"Ah, Ma'mselle, you missed your cue," said the conductor, stopping the orchestra. "It repeats again with 'poor fool'. Do you not remember the lyrics?" He looked at her in disapproval.

"No, monsieur," she sighed, and the music began once more. As she waited for her cue, she looked out in the empty audience, and instinctively looked to the boxes. There, in the box on the left closest to the stage, was the figure of a man. She couldn't see much more than his profile, but suddenly she heard a voice in her ear:

"Sing, my angel of music," Erik's caressing voice whispered.

She remembered Erik's ability to throw his voice, and looked up at the box. The figure nodded, and Christine began to sing her heart out, ignoring the surprised looks she got. Erik was back!

**Yes, you just can't keep a good man down. Or away. Whatever. Soon I'll get into more development, but I need to have this premise. Believe me, it's important! Please review, _mes amis_! _Merci_!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Author's note: Chapter 3 is up. Near the end of this chapter we will see the main conflict in this story. No, it wasn't just Christine's conflict between the right man and Raoul!**

**Disclaimer: The Phantom of the Opera is owned by Gaston Leroux & Andrew Lloyd Webber.**

Erik was here! Christine stared at the familiar figure, watching her in the box, and sang her heart out. She could feel her voice tremble with emotion as she sung this light song. When she finished the song with a loud tremolo, she suddenly noticed everyone staring at her in disbelief.

"Uh, mam'selle," began the conductor, "'Poor Fool, He Makes Me Laugh' is a light piece meant to be full of humor and frivolity. I appreciate your enthusiasm, but _Il Muto_ should not be sung like _Lohengrin_. This is not Wagner. It truly does not require that much passion."

Christine blushed, and glanced at the figure who she knew to be Erik, who she could almost feel smiling. "I am sorry, Monsieur, I simply…lost myself for a moment."

The conductor gave her a quizzical look, than said, "Very well. Let's continue."

When the rehearsal was finished, Christine made her way back to her dressing room, exhausted. After she had finished that first song, Erik had disappeared, though she felt sure that he was still around, listening to her: this gave her heart. She was confused nonetheless. Why was it so important for her to have Erik around/ She was to marry Raoul, and Erik was gone from her life now. Shouldn't she be worried? Shouldn't she tell the managers immediately about this apparition, to warn them? No, she didn't want to. She actually wished she could talk to him one last time.

She turned the doorknob of her dressing room and walked in. There, facing away from her, was a man who was looking at something on her powder table.

"I'm sorry, monsieur, is there something you wanted to ask me?" she said tiredly, throwing aside a muff she had been handed as a prop.

"There is, in fact," a sinister, silky voice replied. The man turned, and Christine started. He looked like a clone of Erik, but with no face deformities and slightly older. "My name is Mathieu Destler. Erik Destler, your Phantom, Angel, what have you, is my brother. I would like you to aid me in finding him."

Erik had a brother? She inspected Mathieu, and realized how, if not for his face, Erik quite possibly could have become a well loved socialite, for he looked almost the same as Mathieu, who was very handsome. There was something off-putting about Mathieu, however. Where Erik gave off an aura of desperation, sadness and unrequited love, Mathieu somehow seemed more sinister than the man who she knew had killed people. Perhaps it was something about those steel grey eyes, much different from the expressive blue eyes of Erik.

"I am sorry, monsieur, but you do realize that, your…brother has disappeared, leaving neither me, nor Raoul, nor anyone with an idea of where he is now," she said coldly and politely.

Mathieu took a few steps towards her, until their faces were only inches apart. "I know you saw him today while you were rehearsing," he hissed. "I saw you looking up at Box 5 of this theatre. I saw that figure as well as you did, and he saw me, so I know he's not in this room. He'd know I go here." Suddenly he shook her shoulders. "Where is he now!"

"He's right here," said a voice to the left of Christine. She turned. There was Erik, resplendent in his black cloak and white mask, glaring at Mathieu. "Hello, brother, it's been a while."

"Indeed." He paused. "Djali sends her regards. She hopes to see you soon."

Erik frowned. "That is not amusing,' he said, and in a blur, he rushed towards Mathieu and somehow had him tied up in an instant. "You terrible, terrible person." He shook his head slowly, then turned to Christine and gazed at her steadily, then turned away and murmured, "I would not have forced myself into your life once more, if it had not been for Mathieu here. I knew he would come after you, trying to find me, and I couldn't let him get away with that." He gave her a side glance.

"Erik…" she began, but suddenly saw Mathieu stand up behind Erik. "Erik!"

"What?" She gestured behind Erik, and he began to turn, but it was too late. Mathieu held a wicked looking knife to Erik's throat.

"Surprised, brother?" he hissed. 'You shouldn't be: I was in the sultana's palace just like you. I learned her tricks just as you did. And now, sleep." And with a movement as fast as Erik's had been earlier, he hit Erik over the head with a candlestick that had been on a table. Erik slumped, knocked out, and Mathieu let him fall to the ground. Mathieu then turned to Christine, who let out a yelp.

"Don't worry, mademoiselle, I wouldn't do anything to give that beloved head of you're a lump," he said, and walked over to her. She knew she wouldn't be able to fight this strong man, but to her surprise, he took her neck in his hands. "Such a pretty neck."

She felt pressure from his fingers, then fell unconscious from pressing of her pressure points. (**A/N: yes, that's awkward, but I want to make it clear that he's not trying to kill her…at the moment**)

Christine woke up some time later to Raoul's face, of all people. He was standing over her, a concerned look on his face. She sat up a little and found that she was still in her dressing room.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"I was hoping you could tell me that," Raoul responded. "I came in here when you were late in meeting me after your rehearsal, and I found you lying on the floor, knocked out. Do you know how that happened?"

Her eyes widened. "Erik! We have to help Erik!" she cried, remembering the recent events.

Raoul frowned. "Erik the Phantom?" he said.

"Yes, of course," she said in frustration. "His brother took him away somewhere- oh, maybe to Persia! He mentioned a sultana."

"Wait, I missed a step. Why would you want to help the Phantom?"

She paused, and looked at this man, a few years older than her yet so much younger in how he acted. He looked at her in eager confusion, with no idea of how many thoughts and confusion she had in her head. For the first time, she openly wondered why she had chosen this innocent fool over the passionate man who, for all his quirks, was much more similar to her.

"Raoul, Erik made my career for me, and did everything it is possible for any person to do in order for me to succeed as a singer. He did deceive me, combining the memories of my father with himself in order for me to trust him, but can you blame him? After being shunned for his entire life, he couldn't very easily just walk up to me and ask me to dinner. I want to help him, because it's the one thing I can do to repay him for what he's done."

"You know I cannot condone this, Christine. The Phantom is a murderer and a madman. You know as well as I how quickly he would have killed me, without any twinge of conscience," he said. "Don't go looking for him. Where would it take you—Persia? You know nothing about that land—it would be terrible." Suddenly his eyes sparked with an idea. "If you go, I shall break the engagement. I would do it, Christine." He looked at her enigmatically.

She nodded. "I believe it, and I accept it." She walked close to him, and took off her engagement ring. Lifting up his hand and placing the ring in his hand, she said, "Consider it broken off," then turned away from him.

"Christine!" Raoul's voice broke with emotion.

"Good-bye, monsieur," she said in a cold voice, still not facing him. She heard him breathing heavily, than heard the door open, then close. After a minute or so, she turned around, and Raoul was gone.

She was free—free to find Erik, and she knew where she'd be going, and she knew who to go with. But first she had to find the Persian.

**I wonder where she's going…anyone know the name of the Persian? I don't have my copy of POTO the book with me, and I'd rather give him a name than constantly referring to him as 'The Persian'. Anyway, review please! I love reviewers, thank you to those who have already done so. Till next time- _au revoir!_**


	4. Chapter 4

**Author's note: And here we have Chapter 4, where Christine takes initiative! Thanks to ****LonesomeGurlAngelofDeath**** for giving me the Persian's name. I'm glad you like the fact that Erik now has a brother! Also thanks to ****Lady Wen**** for reviewing. I hope you like it so far!**

**Disclaimer: POTO is still not mine.**

As Christine made the hour long carriage ride back to Paris, she realized what she had just done. She had left Raoul, the man who had insisted that she go free and let him die rather than have her stay with Erik. Raoul had been so understanding about the whole affair. Then she remembered their conversation before their mutual professions of love on the rooftop during _Il Muto_.

_"But Raoul, in those eyes of his, I saw the sadness of the world. They were pleading eyes and, though they were sometimes threatening, they also adored," Christine attempted to persuade him._

_He brushed it off. "It was a dream, nothing more, Christine. There is no Phantom of the Opera."_

_"Then who has taught me to sing? Who made Carlotta croak like a frog just now? Who is this man who has done all this?"_

_"He is just that—a man. He is a sick, insane man who is playing with you mind. But don't worry Christine; don't talk about this darkness any more."_

_"But I am surrounded by it."_

_"Forget these wide-eyed fears. He is no concern: I'm here, nothing can harm you." And he took her hand, leading her to their love._

Thinking about this, she almost wanted to cry, seeing her blindness. She thought she had been blind giving her mind to Erik, who had just tried to save her from his own brother. No, she had been blind to thoughtlessly accept Raoul's vague words of comfort and think herself in love as a result. He still hadn't believed her about Erik, even after Erik had killed Buquet. Why had she clung to him? Perhaps it was because of their childhood connection, or maybe because he was so predictable- she always knew what was going on inside his mind, and she supposed that was comfortable.

"What was the address you wanted to go to again, madam?" the driver called back to her. Christine obviously couldn't have taken Raoul's carriage, so she had rented one, and simply told the driver to take her to Paris, lost in thought.

"Oh! I am sorry." She almost began to give the Giry's address, but paused, then gave him Firmin and André's address. She had to find the Persian's address. As she looked at the Paris streets going by, she tried to remember the Persian's address. She had only been told it perhaps once or twice. His name was something Persian of course, and felt that his last name began with a K- Kahn, or Khan or something along those lines, maybe.

Too soon, she arrived at Firmin and André's place. She asked the driver to wait for her, and made her way to the front door of the semi-grand house. The façade gave the impression of the residence of the _nouveau riche_, which was exactly what these two men were. She rang the doorbell, and after a minute or so, André himself answered the door. When he saw her, he groaned.

"I am sorry, Mademoiselle Daaé, for all your troubles, but believe me, we have no money to recompense you with: Carlotta reached us first," he said tiredly.

"No! That's not why I came at all!" she cried in surprise. "May I…come in?"

"Very well," he said, and let her in. Once inside, she gasped—she had been to this house once or twice before, and it had been full of expensive art and furniture, but now it felt positively empty. There was still some furniture and one or two pieces of art, but the walls felt bare and it looked like a house that was about to be abandoned or one that had been just been moved into.

"Don't ask about it," Firmin said, coming out of the rooms. "Who knew Carlotta and all the others could have gotten this much out of us?"

"I'm so sorry," murmured Christine. "I actually came to inquire as to whether you have addresses of the former employees of the Opera." She looked hopefully at them.

"Depends on whose you want. We've got the Girys' address, Carlotta's, yours, but if you're looking for some random door opener, we can't help you," André said.

"Well, I'm not sure. Do you remember the Persian? Last name…Kahn or something? Do you know where he lives?" she asked anxiously.

Firmin nodded. "I remember him: Nadir Khan. I believe we have his address. Let me look, one moment." He disappeared into another room.

While they were waiting, André asked, "Why are you looking for M. Khan?"

"He's going to help me find someone else."

André nodded at the vague statement, obviously not having listened to her. Shortly Firmin came out of the room, holding a piece of paper. He handed it to Christine.

"There you go, Mademoiselle Daaé. Good luck," he said.

"Thank you very much, both of you, and I hope you have better fortunes in the future," she said, and left as quickly as she could in a polite manner. Once back in the carriage, she gave the address Firmin had given to her to the driver, and they headed off. So the Persian's name was Nadir Khan—she had gotten the last name almost right. What would he say to her proposal?

Surprisingly quickly, they arrived at Nadir's place of residence. It was not a house, but an apartment, and not a particularly attractive one either. She found his room with some trepidation, realizing for the first time that Nadir really had no reason to help her. What would he say?

Reaching the room that Firmin had given her, she knocked thrice on the door. It opened surprisingly quickly, behind which stood the Persian. He looked at her in confusion, but didn't say anything.

"M. Khan, I wished to speak with you about Erik,' she said without further ado.

He nodded. "Come in, let us talk," he said, and moved aside to let her in. She sat on a low chair, as he poured tea that had already been on the table. He handed a cup to her. "This is traditional Persian tea. It may be stronger than you're used to." That said, he took a grateful sip of his cup.

She too a sip, and it took all of her effort to not spit it out. One small sip had the flavor of five normal cups of tea, so she set the cup on the table and said, "Did you know that Erik has a brother?"

"I did. I met him once, many years ago."

"He's evil! He took Erik!"

Nadir frowned. "How do you know?"

She proceeded to tell him the events of the day, though it already felt like it had happened years ago. When she was finished, he asked, "How do you know Mathieu actually took Erik?"

"Why else would he have knocked Erik out?"

He gave a brief nod. "I agree. But if you want me to help you in finding Mathieu, and therefore Erik, I cannot help you. Based on my knowledge of Mathieu, they are probably en route to Persia, and you couldn't go there."

"That's exactly where I'm going. I thought that might be where he was taking Erik, since he mentioned a sultana. I have no qualms about going to Persia," she said enigmatically.

"Doesn't your fiancé?"

She laughed. "What fiancé? Raoul? We are not engaged any more, so his thoughts are no concern of mine."

Nadir nodded slowly. "Very well. I will help you find Erik, but I have a few things to say first. I must comment that you are going down a dangerous path. I believe you are making Erik more of a hero than he is. I have known of him since he was young, and he is truly just a man, even though he can give the impression of being a Phantom, or Angel, what have you."

"That's not true!" she protested.

Nadir continued, unfazed. "Also, when we are in Persia, you must understand that women are expected to be much more subdued than in Paris. We may have to find you some new clothes, and do your best not to speak to men. Or to women, for that matter. You look European, but if you don't talk you may pass for a light-skinned Persian. Be glad for your brown hair. Now, last of all, we should leave now. How did you get here?"

"By a carriage I rented."

"We'll use that to go to the train station. Time is of the essence."  
"What about money?" This was going suddenly so fast.

Nadir stood up, and helped Christine up. As he grabbed his coat, he said, "Don't worry about it. We need to go now. Once in Persia, it may take some time to find Mathieu and Erik."

"But…"

"No time! Let's go!" And they were off.

**Yay! Christine's coming for Erik! But how will she fare in Persia? What new things will she find out about Erik? Will she discover who the briefly mentioned Djali in chapter 3 is? Reviews keep me alive! À bientôt!**


	5. Chapter 5

**Author's note: I would like to preface this chapter with a disclaimer: Christine and Nadir will be in Persia for the first time (at least on Christine's part), and I'd like to say that any and possibly all of the cultural bits that I mention that may seem surprising to you will be so because they are all from my imagination. It's fiction! So please don't get mad at me. Also, thanks to ****Gothic Tiger****Lady Wen****, and ****Catalina Fioght and Company** **for reviewing. Yes, it's Persia time! Should be interesting for naïve Christine.**

**Disclaimer #2: POTO is not mine.**

For the third time, as Christine and Nadir were waiting at a train station in Persia, a man approached nadir and said something in Farsi in a suggestive voice. Christine didn't want to know what they were saying, because to each man, Nadir had responded in a harsh tone of voice, almost seeming close to fighting.

But she had to know. "What are these men asking, M. Khan?" she asked.

"You don't want to know." Then he glanced at her, and let out a heavy sigh. "But you have to, I guess. These men think that you are…a woman of disreputable reputation."

"They think I'm a prostitute? Why?"

"Well, you have pale skin, of course and…prostitutes here often paint their skin to be as pale as yours. Also, you're wearing your hair down. Only children and…prostitutes do that here," he said. "In fact, as odd as this sounds, it may be best for us to look like we are married. It is unusual, but trust me: I wouldn't say this unless it was absolutely necessary."

"I believe you, monsieur, but what do we do to look like a couple?" she asked.

He thought for a moment. "Normally public displays of affection are frowned upon, but in situations like these it is a little more common, to prevent things like what you just saw happen." He reluctantly linked his arm in hers. "This should do for now, but we need to do something about your hair. And your clothes."

"These are the clothes I left in—remember? You didn't let me get any more clothes."

"I don't blame you, it was simply a comment. Once we arrive in Tehran, we will find a place to buy you clothes."

"Who's in Tehran?" she asked.

"Djali. She's Erik and Mathieu's cousin."

Djali…that name sounded familiar. Now she remembered—Mathieu had mentioned that name when he was talking to Erik. She had remembered feeling jealous when hearing that name, though she wasn't sure why. "Why should we talk to their cousin? What would she know?"

"You will see." They were silent for a moment, than he said, "I can tell you feel awkward. Do not worry, I am not trying to make a move on you—Erik would kill me, not to mention that I am not attracted to you."

"Oh! Thank you for comforting me, but I was more concerned about myself looking like a prostitute while here."

"Do not worry. Once we get you looking more like a Persian, it will be fine."

Shortly the train came. They walked on, and Christine was shocked. This train didn't have normal closed off enclaves for people to sit—on the contrary, the car was stuffed with people- the chairs along the wall were long taken, and people were sitting on the ground, standing- essentially staying wherever they could fit. Nadir seemed unsurprised. He simply led Christine to the back of the car, where they found a wall to lean against.

"First class looks more like what you're used to, Mademoiselle Daaé, and stop giving everything such a disgusted and surprised look. It's making you stand out even more," whispered Nadir. "Now might also be the time to go to the powder room and put your hair up. It should be through the far door, with a 'D' on the door."

That seemed to be an order, so Christine made her way over the many people, out the door, and found the door Nadir had described. As she was about to open the door, the train started off with a great lurch, and she was thrown against the far wall. How sudden it was! Most unlike the trains in France which, though not perfect, were far smoother than these. Once she found her balance once more, she opened the door, and found herself suddenly glad that no one had been in there—the "powder room" consisted of a cracked mirror and a hideous, large pot to go to the bathroom in.

Trying to ignore the smell, she closed the door behind her. She noticed with some dismay that there was no way to lock the door, and she prayed that she wouldn't have to go to the bathroom while on the train. She put her hair up in a rather messy bun as well as she could in the shortest amount of time possible: she did not want to stay in that room longer than necessary, then made her way back to Nadir. It would be a long trip.

Christine and Nadir ended up spending the rest of that day and the night on the crowded car. At one point in the night, a man, ostensibly an employee of the train, though he had no uniform, walked around offering certain foodstuffs. They all looked rather unappealing to Christine, and she didn't understand what he was saying. Also, he had woken her out of a sound sleep, so at the moment she was more interested in going back to sleep.

The next morning Christine awoke to the train pulling to an unsteady halt. She would have been more afraid if she had been thinking more on that, but she was far too relieved: Nadir had told her that it was a one stop train, and the only stop that it would make would be their destination. She stood up and looked out the window. She was quite confused to see desert: not a city in sight, and no one seemed to be getting off.

Nadir was still asleep, so she shook him awake and asked, "Why has the train stopped?"

He rubbed his eyes and said, "It probably has stopped for refueling. That means we're half-way there." With that, he turned over and went back to sleep.

24 long more hours found them finally in Tehran. When Christine had gotten her first glimpse of the city, she had wanted to cry from relief. When the train stopped, nadir sprung up, seemingly refreshed and not at all uncomfortable from sleeping two nights on the floor of a dirty train.

"Very good, we're here. Let's find you good clothes before we find Djali. We'll also need to fix your hair. It's a little better now, but it still needs work," he said, and led her through the struggling crowds out of that accursed train. Seeing her frazzled expression, he smiled. "Still want to find Erik? Or have you had enough?"

"What?" The question had come out of the blue. "Of course I still want to find him. If he lived here, surely I can survive it long enough to find him," she said, a steely glint in her eye that no one had seen before.

Nadir nodded. "Then _allons-y_."

They found a simple dress quickly enough, and there was a hair place where Christine had her hair done right next to the dress shop. Once sufficiently disguised, they took a rickshaw through the streets to the home of Djali. As they drove, Christine couldn't help but feel like a small child just seeing the world for the first time. She didn't understand a word anyone was saying, except for the few odd times when she heard snippets of French, German, which she had learned from singing, and English, which she had learned a little in school. The colors that people were wearing seemed somehow so much brighter and freer than what anyone wore in Paris outside of Mardi Gras. At the same time, the culture also seemed more restrictive. Mosques were everywhere though, upon reflection, she realized that churches were everywhere in France. But also, the women seemed to be more mild and submissive. She didn't see one woman ever walking alone—indeed, she never even saw a group of women without at least one man watching over them. In France it would be unheard of to have to ask a man to escort them outside, but here it seemed to be common.

She noticed that Nadir seemed to be perfectly at home, unsurprised by anything. She kept forgetting that this was his homeland—he had always been a part of the Opera in her mind. When the rickshaw stopped, she began to open the door to get out when Nadir stopped her.

"No, Mademoiselle Daaé," he cautioned. "As a woman, the driver will open the door for you. You are also dressed as a member of the upper class, so he would have done this regardless. Wait for my advice before you do these things."

That irked Christine, though she saw the wisdom in it. Nadir was truly the wise one in this case—she had no jurisdiction here. Sure enough, a moment later the driver opened the door for her and she stepped carefully out, followed by Nadir, who said something to the driver. The driver nodded, then drove off.

"Why did you send him away?" she asked in confusion.

"I am relying on Djali's kindness to provide transportation," he simply said, and walked slowly up the steps with Christine. Before ringing the bell, he warned, "I shall talk at first, then you may ask questions, answer them, whatever Djali wishes. This is her house, so she is to be respected."

"Very well. I shall remain silent," Christine proclaimed.

Nadir nodded and rang the bell. In an instant, a man who even Christine recognized as a butler opened the door. Nadir and the butler exchanged a short conversation, and they were let in and led to some sort of drawing room, where they were given a seat. After about ten minutes a woman came in. She was short and stocky, but gave of an aura of power and intimidation. Seeing the two of them, she turned to Christine and said in perfect French, "Why are you looking for Erik?"

**HOW DOES SHE KNOW? We shall see…soon enough! I'm not sure when I'll next be able to update. It all depends on the tide and whether I'll have access to a computer next week. Regardless, review, good friends, and perhaps I will try to update before I leave! Thank you to those who have already reviewed- you keep me alive and writing.**


	6. Chapter 6

**Author's note: Yay! New chapter! I can update before I go! We'll find out more about this Djali person now. A note: this chapter begins with a point of view other than Christine's. It's not a flashback, it's happening at the same time as Christine's adventures. Just FYI**

**Disclaimer: POTO is not mine, nor is anything else you may recognize.**

**_Erik woke up, his head feeling as though a thousand buffaloes had walked on it, than decided to take a nap between his temples while snoring loudly. In short, it hurt a lot. What was more, he had no idea where he was, except that he was in a small room with no windows and a barely noticeable door, which opened just as he was looking at it, and in came Mathieu._**

_**"Tell me where I am, you bastard," growled Erik.**_

_**Mathieu shook his head disapprovingly. "Now, now Erik, there is no need to use that sort of language. And as for your query, we are still in France. But your darling Christine is in Persia. She seems to be under the impression that we took you there." He grinned.**_

_**Christine in Persia? She came to rescue me?**_

"Why are you looking for Erik?" Djali repeated the question, for Christine was simply staring at her, dumbfounded.

Finally, Christine came up with, "Whatever do you mean, madam?"

Djali shook her head disapprovingly. "You are not the type who can lie. You are looking for your…phantom? Is this the correct word?"

Avoiding the question, and seeing that Nadir would be no help (he was watching the exchange with some amusement) she changed the topic slightly, saying, "How do you know Erik?"

Djali smiled, but her eyes glazed over, remembering.

_"Why have I never met your little brother, Matty?" an 8-year-old Djali asked a 10-year-old Mathieu._

_"Because he would make you blind! He scared our mother, he scared your mother, and he even scares ME sometimes!" Mathieu said with utter conviction._

_"Why did your family leave France? You never told me, Matty." Djali decided to ask all the questions Mathieu had never answered._

_"Why do you think? It was because of Erik, the Demon! He made my mom die and then everyone in Rouen thought he was a devil. They're right! He would scare the scariest scary thing ever!"_

_"Well, why does your family never invite guests over except me?"_

_"Because of Erik! It's all Erik's fault, and you can come over only because daddy knows that I'll protect you from the Demon."_

_"I want to see him," said Djali._

_"No!"_

_She stomped her foot down. "Matty, I will never talk to you again if you don't let me see your brother!" she yelled._

_"Fine, fine—the way you're yelling everyone would think that Erik was attacking someone again." He gave a devilish grin, than walked to the door of the playroom where they were playing and opened the door. "Erik, you can come in now," and turned back to Djali, who was looking to the door with eager eyes. Erik must have been close by, for it was only a few moments before Erik came to the door. Djali couldn't tell right away, but he looked normal to her—a kid about her age, with his head hung low. Than he looked up at her, and she screamed, not hearing Erik's repressed sob at the scream._

"I am his cousin," Djali responded to Christine. "Cousins meet each other."

"Fine, all right. That's beside the point anyway. I wished to ask you where Erik is. That is, where would Mathieu take him?"

"I am afraid I have no idea where they are. Perhaps you could try Djali," Djali said with a straight face.

"Sorry? Aren't…aren't _you_ Djali?" Christine asked in confusion.

"I believe this Djali is referring to the Djali who was engaged to Mathieu, correct?" said Nadir.

Djali nodded. "She would know."

Christine sighed. "All right then, let's go," she said, and stood up. She nodded to Djali. "Thank you for your help."

"Of course," Djali purred.

Once Christine and Nadir were in the rickshaw again, Christine turned to Nadir and said, "I have some questions for you."

"Very well."

"First of all, why is this the same rickshaw we were in before? Why did you tell him to wait? You knew that this Djali wouldn't have any information."

'That's not strictly true," Nadir said. "She did give us the other Djali's address, which I did not have."

"Second, why did this Djali know that Erik was captured?" She glared at Nadir.

Nadir laughed. "I'm sorry; it's simply that I can see your mind working frantically around what has just happened. We're all part of a conspiracy and I'll be leading you all around Persia in hopes that you will never find Erik, correct?"

"Well…" when phrased like that, it sounded silly.

He smiled. "It's fine, I don't blame you for wondering. I told Djali in Farsi why we had come, which is why she asked you why you were looking for Erik. I brought you to her in the first place because I thought she could give us the address of the Djali that I wanted us to talk to. Do you still think I have an ulterior motive?"

"No. I'm sorry for being suspicious."

"You had every right to be so. Let's just hope this Djali can actually help us."

Christine nodded, and looked at the streets of Tehran, wondering if she had made the right decision. The impact of what she had done was finally hitting her. She was thousands of miles away from home, she couldn't speak Farsi, and she based her coming to Persia on a brief comment she had heard Mathieu make. How on earth would she find Erik, and even if she did, how would she save him? She wouldn't be able to right off anyone, and Nadir could only help her so much. She shook her head of these doubts. She would worry about that once she knew for a fact exactly where Erik was.

When they reached the new Djali's place of residence, after they had been let out, Nadir said, "I shall begin out this conversation speaking French so there is absolutely no confusion," and he knocked on the door.

A woman who Christine was sure was Djali opened the door. This Djali was tall and majestic—she almost looked like a princess, complete with a sort of royal air. She was also incredibly attractive.

"Nadir Khan?" she asked hesitantly in a rich voice. Nadir nodded, and she squealed and hugged him tightly to her chest, surprising Christine. It seemed a distinctly un-Persian thing to do for a woman. She said something in Farsi, but Nadir responded, as per his promise, in French.

"I am well, thank you, but I wish to speak French—we have a Frenchwoman with us," he said.

Djali let go of Nadir and looked at Christine critically. "Where did you get that hair change?" she said in a thick accent.

"The hair style?" Christine said in confusion. "I got it here, near the train station."

Djali nodded. "I see. No matter, you come in anyway," she said, and led them in, holding Nadir's hand. She led them to a lavish sitting room, obviously attempting to be European. However, it failed miserably at this. They sat down, and Djali said, "So why see me madam?"

"I wanted to know if you had heard about Mathieu's capture of Erik, and to see if you knew where they were," said Christine.

"Mathieu and Erik!" Her eyes lit up. "They kiss both well, but Erik better." She grinned.

"WHAT??" Christine cried. Erik had kissed this woman? Why? When?

"Yes, Erik was nice at me," Djali smiled.

_"Get away from me!" cried Erik. He was backed in a corner as this attractive teenager named Djali came at him._

_"You're 17, Erik darling. You need to have your first kiss!" Djali whispered in Farsi, and leaned towards him and gave him a tender kiss. "There, didn't you like that?"_

_"No! Don't you realize that you are kissing a monster?"_

Djali blinked, repressing the memory that had come up. "Is Erik nice at you too?' she asked Christine.

She sighed. "Yes, he is," was her only response. Djali had disconcerted her, as she was also making her terribly jealous.

"As to where he and my old fiancé be…"

"Fiancé? Were you engaged to Mathieu?"

Djali smiled. "Of course. I think he would be at the sultana's home. He liked learning there, even except Erik is best."

"Of course!" interrupted Nadir. "A wonderful idea, Djali." He stood up, bringing Christine with him. "Thank you very much."

"You stay, Nadir of course?" Djali asked.

He shook his head. "I go with Christine." And they left. While driving once more in the rickshaw, he said, "I am sorry, Mademoiselle Daaé, I had forgotten how flirtatious Djali is. Regardless, the idea of going to the sultana was a good idea."

"Very well," Christine murmured. Ordinarily she would have asked more about this sultana, but she was lost in thoughts of Erik. He had had some sort of romance before her. What if his entire infatuation with her was nothing more than a method he underwent in order to win a girl's heart? Was he worth all this trouble? Maybe she should consign him to his fate—after all, was he truly worth all this trouble? Her heart sunk as they drove closer to the sultana.

_**Erik was starving. His throat was dry, and his head still hurt incredibly. But now he had a purpose. He had to escape to find Christine. She was alone in Persia—searching for him! He felt that he could endure all this pain if he kept that in mind: Christine was looking for him.**_

**Note: Such troubles! I hope Christine hasn't lost heart yet—she's close to finding some real information. Hope you all liked this chapter; please review, my friends!**


	7. Chapter 7

**Author's note: Even though I'm on break right now and should be sleeping my life away right now, I'm writing this in hope that I can get to post this sometime soon. Enjoy!**

The rickshaw stopped as near to the sultana's elaborate palace as the driver could get it, and opened the door for Christine and Nadir to get out, but Christine moved. The driver said something in Farsi, and Nadir said, "You can get off now, Ms. Daaé."

She shook her head slowly. "No, M. Khan. I am not getting off now. I'm getting out now."

"I'm sorry; it was a mistake of mine. I will never be perfect in French, you know. You can get out now."

She shook her head once more, this time with more vigor. "No, I mean that I'm getting out of this whole saving Erik business. I have no place here, and it's taken me this long to realize that. Erik is not my concern any more. He left my life, and I should be glad about that. Why am I searching for him, Nadir? Why? Tell me that, and perhaps I shall continue."

"Perhaps you search because, in some recess of your brain, you love him. As I love him as a pupil might love his teacher, I will search for him. But I cannot do it alone. I need the support of someone who loves him as well. If you do not continue with this search, than Erik may die in captivity. Just imagine the hope you could be giving him just with the knowledge that he is loved, and being looked for."

"But how would he know?"

"I have reason to guess that Djali, that is, the flirtatious Djali, may be in contact with Mathieu and know more than she lets on."

"Then why did you not question her more?"

"Because she was being impossible—trying to play on your obvious jealousy to its max. She would've easily brushed off a more serious question."

"My obvious jealousy?" Christine cried indignantly.

"Well, yes, I'm afraid it was rather obvious, Christine. But that is beside the point. I am trying to tell you that it is a good possibility that Erik knows you are looking for him, or that he will soon. If he then discovered that you had abandoned him, I don't know how he would take it."

"But I've been trying to say that his well-being is no longer my concern!"

Nadir gave a heavy sigh. "If there is truly nothing I can say to convince you to stay, then I shall accompany you back to France. In fact, I have been getting the sense more and more that Erik is not in Persia anyway, so it may be good to go back to France."

"Why do you think he's not in Persia?"

"I'm not 100 sure, but the Djalis who we've talked to seem far too relaxed and confident. If Erik were here, there would be more tension around. I am aware that it is all conjecture, but it's an instinct that I feel is correct."

Christine looked at him, trying to see if she could believe him. Finally she said, "If you are right, and Erik is in France, I will help you find him. But if it turns out that Erik is in fact in Persia, I will give up. I haven't even been in Tehran for a day, and I have already had enough. I've been feeling so overwhelmed, Nadir." The exhaustion of a fruitless search and an unusual country took over her, and she fainted.

Christine woke up intermittently throughout the train ride back to Paris, and only got up to change trains. Once she and Nadir reached Paris four days later, Nadir suggested she rest a while. She whispered that she didn't really have a place of her own, so Nadir led her to his apartment, and she slept in his bed for what felt like a week.

One late afternoon she woke up, feeling much refreshed, so she got out of bed, noticing that she was still wearing the clothes Nadir had bought her in Tehran, and walked out of the bedroom to the living area. Nadir was sitting there in a deep discussion in Farsi with another Persian. Noticing her, he stopped talking and looked up.

"Good news, Ms. Daaé," he said. "My friend here has a good idea of where Mathieu and Erik are and, in truth, I'm rather ashamed I haven't thought of it already."

"And where's that?" Christine asked, yawning.

"Rouen," said the other man. "It's a town in north France where they were born. I have a cousin who lives there who told me about a plot of Mathieu's to…" he stopped and looked at her. "Well, the plan as I understand it is to capture you or lure you in some way up to Rouen so Mathieu could kill you in front of Erik before killing Erik. So I advise you not to go."

Christine looked to see Nadir's expression, which was as shocked as hers: he obviously hadn't been told about that yet. Turning back to the man, she said, "I disagree with your advice. I am going to Rouen. They won't expect that. I'll hide in Rouen and figure out where Erik is, then I'll rescue him somehow, and together, we'll be invincible! Erik is that powerful." Her eyes were glowing with the idea.

The man expressed his skepticism, and left shortly thereafter. Christine didn't give a thought to him afterwards, which would turn out to be a major miscalculation. Instead she discussed the speediest way to get to Rouen with Nadir, who she forbade to come with her this time.

"I'll still be in my home country—I will be able to disguise myself with great ease. Never fear, Nadir."

"I can't help but do so, Ms. Daaé. You are still unaware of how dangerous Mathieu can be. Beware, Christine, and be wary."

Christine left that evening for the overnight train to Rouen—luckily it was a big enough city that there was a direct train there, which also meant that it would be that much easier to hide herself. As she waited in her box of the train for it to depart, the door to her box opened and, of all people, Raoul walked in. Seeing Christine, he gave a sigh of relief, saying, "When I saw your name on the departing list, I almost couldn't believe it. Christine, Christine, where have you been? I've been so worried—I even checked morgues and the obituaries."

She looked at him in utter confusion. "Why on earth did you do that? I seem to remember our engagement being broken off," she said.

He ignored the comment and sat down across from her. "Why are you going to Rouen? I wasn't planning on getting on this train until I thought I saw you."

"That's rather impulsive."

"Isn't it?" He sounded rather proud of himself for some reason.

"You didn't answer my question, Raoul."

"Which one was that?"

"Why you've apparently been searching for me when I broke our engagement, at what seemed to me a mutual agreement at the time."

"Oh Christine, _mon chéri_, I acted far too impulsively. I sent thousands of flowers to the Girys, where I thought you were. I had no chance to apologize, so I'm afraid you'll have to take this one, though it is long overdue." He smiled bashfully at her.

"And what makes you think I'm accepting your apology? There's nothing saying that I _must _take it."

"But Christine, my parents would be devastated! They still talk about you often."

"Saying terrible things, no doubt. You know as well as I that your parents disliked me immediately upon seeing me."

The train started off as Raoul cried, "Of course not! It's normal to be worried about first appearances, but don't be frightened by my parents—they can be hard to read at first, but they're loveable once you get to know them."

Christine gave a long sigh, abandoning that topic of conversation to hopelessness, than she had an idea. "Raoul, do you have any idea _why_ I'm going to Rouen?"

"Nope—remember? I just got on this train by impulse."

"I'm going to find Erik. The Phantom of the Paris Opera. My Angel. I'm going to rescue him. I went to Persia to try to find him—that's how much I care for him."

"Why in God's name did you do that?" He was shocked.

"I asked myself the same question while in Persia, and in the mean time I've come up with an answer, and it only has three words: I love him. Isn't it a known fact that people in love act like fools? I suppose I am the perfect example of that. So I am going to Rouen to be with my beloved."

Raoul's mouth set in a grim line that Christine had never seen before. "Then I am going to Rouen to convince you of the love you surely still hold for me in your heart."

"That wasn't love: that was blind fear combined with the comfort of someone I knew from my childhood and someone who didn't question me like only Erik can.'

"You wish to be questioned."

"I don't want to take a certain path simply because it is the easiest way to go."

"I'm sure that's not true."

"I know it to be so."

Raoul sat back. "We shall see," he said, giving a semblance of his old silly smile.

But Christine had already forgotten him, and was losing herself in her thoughts of Erik. She loved him, yes she did. But how on earth was she going to rescue him from Mathieu?

**We're getting to the climax of the story: yay! PLEASE review, people! I haven't gotten reviews on my past two chapters and this worries me. Are people sick of my story, or am I just doing things the way you like? If so, please say so! Is the story getting inane and boring? If so, please tell me! Once again, I thank you for reading, thou loyal POTO-ers!**


	8. Chapter 8

**Author's note: Sorry for the LONG break—life suddenly got a lot busier. I saw the old POTO movie for Halloween—very good, except for the end, which made me want to cry! Anyway…huzzah! Christine is finally in the same city as Erik. But getting the both of them out of the city will prove rather difficult, as one might imagine. Thanks to loyal reader/reviewer ****LonesomeGurlAngelofDeath**** for her support, and to t .bear for reviewing!**

Christine woke up during the train ride north to an unusual sight: Raoul's lap. She sat straight up, and saw that Raoul had moved next to her, ostensibly while she slept. Seeing that he was awake, and smiling at her, she screeched, "What did you do in my sleep?"

"Why, nothing at all, my dear. You simply slumped over in your sleep, and I thought that I could provide you with a sort of…comfortable pillow," he said. Though the explanation sounded perfectly innocent, the gleam in his eye showed other intentions, less innocent.

"That was not necessary, and you may now move back to your side of this box, monsieur!" she said. What would Erik have thought if he had seen that? she wondered anxiously, as if there was a possibility of him seeing.

Raoul moved reluctantly back to his original side, all the while giving Christine a mournful look. He's more of a drama queen than some of the chorus girls at the opera, Christine thought, but let it go, beginning to worry once more about what she would do once she got to Rouen. She supposed she would start by asking around about Mathieu. Suddenly she realized that she didn't even know his last name—Erik had never given one for himself—she didn't even know if he had one. She couldn't go around Rouen asking for "Mathieu"—that was a common enough name. There were probably thousands of Mathieus in this city alone. Well, if Nadir was right, then Erik had grown up here, so people would hopefully remember him.

As she wondered about this, the box door opened. Christine looked in surprise to see who had come in, and saw Nadir's Persian friend. He smiled at her and said, "May I sit here?"

"Of course! I mean…why are you going to Rouen, monsieur?" she asked hesitantly, trying not to sound rude.

"My family is there, so I am going back to them." He gave a wide grin. "Also, you may call me Khalid."

"Do you have any ideas as to where specifically in Rouen Mathieu is?"

"I…don't, but their family was wealthy. If you ask about them, someone should know."

"I don't even know their last name!"

"Don't worry—they will find you," and Khalid gave a grin that could only be described as menacing.

"Excuse me, sir, what do you mean by that?" Raoul interrupted.

Christine whipped around to him. "This is no concern of yours!" she hissed.

Khalid frowned. "Who's this?" he asked Christine.

She shook her head. "No one of importance," was her only response.

The rest of the ride to Rouen continued in silence. Even Raoul seemed to notice that something was wrong, and kept silent, falling asleep, in fact, soon after everyone had stopped talking. Christine didn't feel at all tired, even though the nap she had taken on the train hadn't been particularly restful. She was consumed by thoughts of Erik. If he truly knew that she was coming, she hoped that he'd be able to survive whatever Mathieu was putting him through until she reached him. He had always been such a dear…

**_"You will see your darling Christine soon, brother—she's on her way to Rouen now. I even helped her on her way here. Aren't you grateful?" Mathieu grinned._**

_**Erik looked up at him with weary eyes. "Just don't hurt her," he whispered.**_

**_"Hurt her! Why, Erik, why else would we be bringing her here?"_**

****Christine shook herself. Where had that image come from? Was it a premonition? She gave a side glance to Khalid, who was comfortably seated, reading a newspaper in some language—Christine assumed it was Farsi. **(A/N Farsi is what they speak in Iran nowadays, so I made it what they spoke when Iran was still Persia)** She was beginning to not trust him. If this…vision she had was true, she was being led to Rouen, and it was Khalid who had first told her and Nadir about Rouen. Well, no matter, she would be on her guard. Even if she was being led there, it still seemed to be the truth that Erik was there, so at least she would be in the same city as him.

Eventually the train reached Rouen. It was late—almost 1:00 in the morning, so she decided that she would find a hotel and get some sleep before searching out Erik. Khalid recommended a hotel for her, but Christine declined his advice, still not trusting him. Unfortunately, she could not be so easily rid of Raoul. He insisted on taking the same carriage as her and sleeping in the same hotel as her. Luckily she managed to get a separate room from him. Once she reached her room, she found herself exhausted, and fell asleep right away.

Early that morning Christine awoke to pounding on her door. She sprang out of bed and made her way to the door. Having the though that it might be Mathieu's men, or Mathieu himself, she grabbed an umbrella she had found in the room and, brandishing it as a weapon, unlocked the door and opened it slightly. The person was not one of Mathieu's men at all, but Nadir. She lowered the umbrella and said, "What on earth are you doing here, Nadir?"

"Please, let me in, Christine. I've made a terrible mistake," he said. "Khalid is working for Mathieu and I think they have some sort of plan to kidnap you and use you to get something out of Erik."

Amazed at the accuracy of her predictions, she silently let him in and moved and sat on her bed. Nadir pulled up a chair.

"Khalid himself told me this once your train had left. He told me he was going to drive and catch up to your train to get on and spy on you. Did he do so?"

"Yes…yes, I suppose he did. Oh, Nadir! Raoul is here! He saw me on the train and followed me. Isn't that a bother?"

"It was probably a greater bother to Khalid. He could have captured you on the train had you been alone. Raoul saved you, albeit temporarily. What I think we should do now is have you stay in your room for now. We have no idea who is working for Mathieu and who is not. I can scout things out a little for you and come back as soon as possible. Is that fine with you?"

"No! That means I'm not doing anything! I came here to help Erik, not to delegate that task to others."

"But it's too dangerous."

"Don't you think that Mathieu's people could find out my room and come here as easily as finding me on the street? At least if I'm in public they can't just grab me without having some good explanation."

"Very well. But let's don't separate today."

"Then let's go now."

And though they searched all day, it was a fruitless day. No one knew what they were talking about, or at least no one said they knew. Neither of them knew where Mathieu's home was, and that evening Christine felt ready to cry. She bade Nadir good night at the door to her hotel room and fell asleep in her slip, not bothering to even put on her nightgown. She was feeling so helpless. If every day goes like this one, she thought, I'm lost.

That morning, Christine awoke to someone putting a cloth over her mouth. He eyes opened wide, and the last thing she saw was Khalid laughing at her. She was captured!

**Woo-hoo! Climax, here we come! I'll try to be a bit speedier about posting it than this chapter. For some reason all my teachers at once started hating me and giving me more homework. Anyway, review, my friends, and I will love you!**


	9. Chapter 9

**Author's note: Oooh, this is a fun chapter. Keep in mind that I sometimes have a warped idea of what "fun" is. I hope you enjoy this action-packed chapter!**

When Christine woke up, she felt woozy from something she couldn't label. Scientists would call it methyl trichloride, though laymen know it as chloroform. It was no concern to Christine, for once she opened her eyes, she found herself trussed up, suspended on what felt like a stone wall. Her arms and legs were tied, but she forgot about that when she looked across the stone cell she was in and saw Erik, curled up on the opposite side of the cell.

"Erik!" she tried to yell, but it came out as a groan, as she was still feeling the effects of the methyl trichloride.

He heard her regardless, and looked up at her. He tried to stand, but he couldn't stand up all the way, for he was chained around his wrists and his ankles. The chains were long enough that he had some freedom of movement, but not much. She looked at him with pity, even though she wasn't in much of a better situation. However, he had probably been in this room much longer. He was wearing black dress pants, such as he usually wore, and a white dress shirt, and no shoes. But both his pants and shirt were filthy. He also didn't have his mask. When he remembered this, his turned away from her, and murmured, "You're awake. Are you…all right?"

In some sense that could be construed as a foolish question, but somehow Christine felt as though it were the most touching question she had ever been asked. "Yes, I'm fine," she croaked. Her voice still wasn't normal. "But I came to Rouen to save you, and now I've found myself in a similar position as you."

"It's not your fault. As soon as Mathieu heard you were looking for me," saying that, he gave her a side glance, but continued, "he began planning this out."

"Have you been here the whole time?"

"As far as I know. He's never moved me from this room. He even told me what those chains that are holding you up would be for."

"Oh, Erik!" she sighed. "I wish I could have come here sooner. I went to Persia, because I heard you were there. Who is the sultana, by the way? I never met her. Also, I met two different women named Djali. How did you know them?"

"You met _two _Djalis?"

"Yes…why, you only know one?"

"No, I know two. I simply wish you had never met one of them. You went with M. Khan, did you not?"

"Yes."

Erik shook his head, still not facing Christine. "He should have known better," he muttered.

"Erik," Christine said. "Why aren't you facing me?"

He gave a hollow laugh. "Have you already forgotten, Christine?"

"No, I have not. But Erik, as I've been looking for you, I have realized that you are so much more beautiful than your face. Your life has been so difficult—more difficult than the little that I've seen of it, I'm sure, and yet you have lived it. You did not let yourself be given some cruel label."

"I have been given a label. I have been given several. At the gypsy's fair I was called 'the Devil's Child', and now I am the Phantom of the Opera. I have no name, I am simply an idea—an idea of grotesqueness."

The Gypsy's fair? she wondered, but let it slide for now. "Erik—I have gone across the continent looking for you. I would not do so if I had thought you were grotesque. Your face holds no horror for me now."

"I remember when you said that to me in the Opera House. You finished up that sentence then with 'it's in your soul that the distortion lies,'" he said, continuing to look away. **(A/N- Remember? From the musical? "This haunted face holds no horror for me now/it's in your soul that the true distortion lies" That line always makes me sad—if I were Erik I would've dwelled on it)**

"I'm so sorry, Erik. I was scared. Raoul had been convincing me that you were evil, and you had Raoul trussed up like a pig, and you had led me to your subterranean lair. Can you blame me for being afraid? It was only when I had lost you that I realized how much I need you." She gave a sad smile. "Isn't that ironic?"

Finally, Erik turned and looked at Christine. "You truly missed me?" he asked.

She nodded, feeling tears begin to well up in her eyes. "And I never even acknowledged it until Mathieu took you away from me," she said.

"How sweet!" a rasping voice said. Christine turned and saw that Mathieu had come in just then. His eyes were bloodshot, and she suspected him of being inebriated at the moment. "Little Chrissy missed the little mutant!" He turned to Christine and said in a mock-confidential tone of voice, "Between you and me, I think you could do a lot better." Then he started snickering, but stopped when he heard the rattling of Erik's chains as he furiously tried to get free. Mathieu smiled and walked over to Erik. "There, there, little brother, there's nothing you can do about it." And he turned back and looked at Christine. As soon as he did so, Erik leapt on him and held Mathieu by the throat.

"Free me, you bastard," growled Erik.

Mathieu merely smiled. "You know as well as I do that I have backup just outside this door."

"Maybe so, but they will do what I say if I hold your life in my hands."

"Ah, but I hold Christine's life in mine, do I not? Enorme!" he called, and a gargantuan man walked into the room. "Erik here believes he can threaten his way to freedom. Care to show him what you can do with Christine?"

Enorme grunted and walked over to Christine, who felt her heart plummet to the floor. Enorme raised one giant fist, when Erik shouted, "Stop!" and let Mathieu go. "I see your plan, you twisted man, and I will find my way around it. Just watch."

Mathieu laughed, rubbed his neck, and walked over to Enorme. "We shall see, brother, we shall see. I think I need to teach you a little lesson, though. Enorme!" He nodded at the man, and left the room. Suddenly Enorme was at Christine's side, and he punched her square in the face once, twice, three times, until her ears were ringing. She thought she heard Erik shouting, but a swift punch to the stomach made her ignore that. When Enorme was finally done and gone, she hung her head and silently fell to tears, from pain and from frustration with the situation, ignoring Erik's pleading words.

Christine awoke later—she wasn't sure how much later, for the room had no windows—and heard the door creaking open. She assumed it was Mathieu again, come to laugh at her and Erik's misery, so she didn't look up, and simply closed her eyes. She heard Erik give a noise of surprise. That was even more worrying, so she tried to fall back asleep.

She was astonished when she felt some hands at one of her wrists, unlocking the chains that bound her to the wall. She opened her eyes and saw, of all people, Nadir, feverishly trying to unlock her chains with as much expediency and silence as possible.

"What are you…" she started to say, but Nadir shook his head to indicate she should be quiet, so she simply watched and tried to help Nadir a little with her chains. As soon as she was free, they both walked over to Erik's side of the cell. Nadir freed him quickly, and gestured them both out. As soon as they were out of the cell, Nadir pushed them into what appeared to be a broom closet off the hallway they were in.

Nadir closed the door behind the three of them and finally whispered, "We've just accomplished the easiest part of your escape. The hardest is yet to come."

"What do you mean?" Christine hissed.

He shook his head. "You will see. Now, there's no time to lose. Let's go!"

**Golly, I didn't realize I'd have to split this into two parts. I mean, I could keep it as one, but then it would be this monster chapter, and for whatever reason I like splitting it up. Hopefully I'll have the second part of their escape up soon! Till then, review, good friends!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Author's note: Here's part two of the climax. Enjoy!**

"Let's go!" said Nadir, and opened the closet door a crack. He looked out, than nodded to Christine and Erik, and they followed him out. They crept down the hallway for maybe thirty meters, when Nadir stopped them, and pointed to the floor. They looked down, and saw a grid that led below the house, ostensibly a sort of sewer system for the house. It was a big enough house that this didn't surprise Christine.

Nadir nodded and whispered, "I got the plans of the house from Khalid—he thinks I was in on the plan of capturing you." With that, he pulled out a key from his overcoat, bent down to the grid, unlocked it, lifting the grid off silently, and hopped down. She heard him drop into a little bit of water, and glanced at Erik, who was watching her. She suddenly forgot the direness of the situation and took a step towards him just as he walked towards her. They shared a piercing glance, and suddenly he took her in his arms and hugged her. It was the first time they had touched since that last kiss in his lair in the Paris Opera.

"Hurry up!" they heard Nadir hiss, and they broke apart. Erik gave Christine a small smile, and helped her down the hole. She fell down, finding herself in a long tunnel that had a small stream of water flowing over the ground and occasional drops of water falling from the stone ceiling. She moved aside, and Erik dropped lightly beside her.

"Hurry, we're still not safe!" whispered Nadir, and as soon as he looked at a piece of paper that looked like the plans of the house, they headed off. As they were walking, Nadir naturally ended up leading the way, with Erik and Christine walking side by side, giving each other side glances from time to time. Finally, she took his hand. He gave her hand a tight squeeze, and they walked hand in hand through the cellar. At one point, they were forced to walk through a deeper pool of water. But before Christine ventured into it, Erik swept her up and carried her over the water, gently putting her down when they got to the other side.

She smiled at him, and put a hand to the deformed side of his face. He flinched for a moment, than nodded at her. 'I love you' he mouthed. They wrapped their arms around each other, and their faces were inches apart, until Nadir whispered a command to hurry. They let each other go and continued walking hand in hand.

Soon they reached a fork in the tunnel. In fact, there were four paths they could take. Nadir stopped, obviously confused.

"What's the problem?" Erik asked.

"I don't actually have a map of the sewers. Give me a second," Nadir said.

"Why does a house have an elaborate sewer system like this?" asked Christine.

"It actually used to be several houses, part of an estate. It was somehow combined into one house maybe fifty years ago. This sewer is a remnant of what used to be a way for servants to scurry around without bothering their masters," he said. **(A/N It makes sense to me…)** He looked at the tunnels, than finally whispered, "I believe we should go on the right-most tunnel. Let's go."

They headed down the tunnel, and shortly Nadir hissed, "This is the right way—we're heading up!" As soon as he said that, the three of them simultaneously felt the next step they took sink into the ground. They all looked down. The ground had turned to mud.

"It probably won't be too deep!" Christine whispered brightly.

They all took several steps deeper, and it was clear that it was steadily getting deeper. Soon they were all up to their waist, and the end of the muddy area was perhaps thirty meters away. Erik and Christine exchanged a glance, and Erik lifted Christine up and waded deeper into the mud.

"You don't have to…" she began, but Erik interrupted her.

"I won't let you be in any more danger than I already exposed you to. I was forced to stand by as you were being punched," he said. He gently touched a bruise that was swelling on the side of Christine's forehead. "This is the least I can do to make amends."

"It wasn't your fault, though!"

"I still wish to do this." He fell silent and carried her through the mud. Ahead of them, Nadir had almost gotten up to his neck in mud, and was half walking, half swimming. Erik, just a little behind him, had mud just to below his shoulders. He had his arms held up in front of him, holding Christine buoyed up on the surface of the mud. But then suddenly the ground appeared to disappear, for Erik's head went under the mud for a moment.

"ERIK!" Christine screamed, forgetting the need for silence for a moment.

His head poked out a second later, spitting mud out of his mouth. "I'm fine," he said, but Nadir glared at the both of them, though he was barely staying above the mud himself. Erik was forced to hold Christine with one hand, so they both swam slowly towards the end.

"I found the ground again!" whispered Nadir, and they both muddled towards him. Soon they both reached the ground, and forced their way to solid ground once more. They made their way slowly out of the mud. Once they were completely free from the pit, all three of them lay down on the ground, panting.

"Are you all right?" Erik asked Christine.

"Yes," she panted.

"I am as well," whispered Nadir, obviously feeling a bit left out.

"Oh yes, apologies, Khan, I am glad you are well. Shall we go on?" asked Erik.

"Yes." Nadir stood up, as did Erik and Christine. They continued walking. Nadir was right—the floor was steadily sloping up, and soon the arrived at another grate sloped just a little higher. They saw sunlight streaming from the grate.

"Nadir, you're wonderful!" Christine cried, and Nadir smiled. He reached through the bars and unlocked the grate, than pushed it out. He scrambled out, followed by Christine, then Erik. Christine rolled over and stood up, only to hear a pistol cocked at her head. She looked to the sound of the noise, and saw Enorme, giving her a wide grin. She looked to Nadir and Erik. Two other men were holding guns to their heads as well.

Mathieu also walked up. "Well, well, well, I waited at the right entrance," he laughed. "Enorme! Shoot her. No more games."

Christine winced in anticipation. She heard a gun shot, but for some reason didn't feel any pain. At least that's a relief, she thought, and opened her eyes to see the afterlife. Instead of heaven or hell, all she saw was Enorme, lying at her feet, a bullet in the back of his head and Raoul, holding a still-smoking gun and looking rather shocked at what he had just done.

Erik wasted not a moment, but grabbed the gun from the man who had held said gun at him and calmly shot Mathieu, who gasped and staggered back a few steps.

"You…shot…me!" he wheezed, and fell over. Erik ran over to him.

"He's dead," he said blandly, and turned to the one remaining man, who was lowering his gun in fear and slowly backing away.

"Hey, I didn't see nothing," the man said. He dropped his gun, and ran away. The others ignored him.

"How did you find us?" asked Christine to Raoul.

He sighed. "I actually got some hints from that Khalid man and some others around Rouen. I just got here, and had brought a gun just in case. I suppose it's lucky I did so. I…also wanted to tell you, Christine…" he trailed off, and glanced at Erik, who was clearly trying to contain himself from giving Raoul a murderous glare.

Erik turned away.

"Christine, my dear childhood friend, I wanted to tell you that I truly do release you from all engagements. I withdraw my suit, and I shall not bother you again. I swear, I can see when my affections are not desired. I give you to…Erik, or whoever you wish."

She felt her eyes begin to tear up. "Thank you, Raoul," she whispered.

"I will go now, seeing that you are safe," he said.

"May I join you?" asked Nadir.

"Of course. My carriage is outside the gate. I let myself in—there was no one else there."

Nadir smiled at Erik and Christine, and headed off with Raoul. Once they were gone, the two of them looked at each other.

"Christine, I don't know what to say," Erik said.

"Then make no sound," she replied, and they drew together and kissed each other. At first it was a tentative, unsure kiss, but soon it deepened, and it is clear that someone could have fired a gun next to them and neither of them would have noticed. They were finally together, this time with nothing to hinder them.

**Yay! Finally they kiss! Soon I'll post an epilogue with a bit of tying up of loose ends and happiness. I hope you don't feel cheated with my sudden killing off of Mathieu. I just wanted him dead, and I wanted Erik to do it. I hope all of you liked it!**


	11. Epilogue

**Author's note: Thank you all for reading—I hope you've liked the exciting finale! I wanted to write this to wrap up some things you may have wondered about and give a glance into the future…**

Raoul de Chagny sat down slowly by the fireside, next to his wife, a silly woman with not an intellectual thought in her head, whom he had married for the sole sake of necessity. But she had been good these fifty years, and as they both grew old, she was the stabilizing force in his life that allowed him to leave behind his incredible past. Oh, his past…he hadn't seen Erik or Christine since they separated in Paris, saying to each other a vaguely awkward farewell.

Nadir and Raoul had met shortly after, discussing what had happened in Rouen. Nadir had told Raoul how he had gone to Rouen after learning from Khalid the plan that was in place, and how he had looked at the plan of the house to try to figure out the easiest way to escape without being caught, and told how they had all crawled through the sewers together.

Then Raoul told Nadir how he had woken up to discover that Christine had gone missing, and how, while frantically searching for a clue of where she had gone, he had come across Khalid who had seemed to find Raoul amusing, and had told him that Christine was with Mathieu, and gave him the address.

It had been hard for Raoul to find this address, and when he had finally reached the grand mansion, he had run through the gate just to see Christine, Erik, and Nadir come out of the sewer and be threatened by Mathieu and his cronies. Without thinking, he had shot the huge man threatening Christine. But after that, Erik and Christine seemed to be only wrapped up in each other, so Raoul had left and never heard the other side of the story, until he and Nadir had talked. He and Nadir had actually met a few times after that, but the relationship was strained, and they met only as a sort of reliving of the experiences.

He had almost left the whole experience far behind him, but now, as an old man sitting at his fireplace, he wondered where Christine and Erik were today…

Giuseppe Antonelli was proud of the Venice Opera where he was conductor at. Tonight they would be performing _Il Muto_. He remembered how some of the stage hands had been running around, pretending to be Phantoms every time they rehearsed this opera. He wasn't quite sure how the idea of a Phantom became locked up with this opera—he thought it had something to do with some Opera House in France somewhere. No matter—it made people somehow even more interested in coming.

In the ten or so minutes remaining before the performance began, Giuseppe turned around in his position in the orchestra pit and surveyed the audience. He ignored the people sitting the orchestra—they were always the ones paying the least, and therefore the least interesting. He did notice that it was packed, though, but he didn't dwell on it, and instead slid his eyes over the people sitting in the boxes.

There was Signora Capriccio and her husband—Signora Capriccio constantly sent letters to the managers, insisting that she be allowed to bring her two small dogs into the opera house with her. It irked her that they always refused her, but it didn't stop her from coming to every performance. In the next box over was Signor Huberto—he _loved_ the opera, or, to be more specific, the female dancers in the opera. Even now Giuseppe could see Huberto licking his lips and rubbing his hands together in anticipation. The next box contained two couples who were the cause of much conversation—no one could ever tell who was married to whom, for they always seemed to be trading off. Next to them were the Balanzis—they positively hated to opera—thought it was sinful and should be banned. But the poor souls, it was far too socially acceptable for them to be seen there, so they went to each opera, sniffing self righteously through the entire ordeal.

But in Box 5, there was a new couple. Giuseppe noticed the woman first. Though she was elderly, if he had been twenty years older or she that much younger, he would be running up to the box right now in an attempt to have her for himself. And, judging by her looks and the cut of her dress, she was French—so she would have a lovely accent when speaking Italian. Oh, if she were but younger he would steal her away from the man she was with, to whom Giuseppe now turned his attention. He was shocked to notice that the man was wearing a white mask that covered half his face. What a gaudy, tasteless allusion to _Il Muto's_ Phantom connection, he thought. It didn't become the woman at all to be seen with that man.

"Looking at Box 5, monsieur?" Giuseppe heard the principal cellist ask from behind him. He turned around and saw the grizzled old cellist grinning at him. This cellist was a Frenchman who apparently had worked in every opera in West Europe, and always reminisced about his various experiences.

"Yes, I am," Giuseppe said in response to the question. "I was bemoaning the fact that the man in that box is wearing a mask—undoubtedly a reference to _Il Muto_ and the Phantom."

The cellist cackled. "Not at all. Why, when I played for the Paris Opera House, any reference to the Phantom was accompanied by frightened shivers and hushed voices, and no one would look directly at Box 5," he said.

"Why ever not?"

"Look at our own Box 5 here and you will see why."

"What, you had a Phantom of Box 5?"

"Of the entire Opera."

"And what does this have to do with the couple sitting in our Opera House tonight?"

"I recognized Madam Christine Daaé as soon as I saw her. That will be the woman in Box 5. I was there when she first became a diva. Once I recognized her, it was obvious that something had happened, and she had not ended up the rich _patron_ of the Paris Opera as seemed to be originally planned, but instead with the Phantom. I wonder how that happened."

"What on earth are you talking about? The _patron_ of the Opera? The Phantom of the Opera? Who are these people?"

The cellist smiled. "Never mind," he said, and turned back to his cello and began playing. Giuseppe looked back to the couple. They were sitting close to each other, talking with animation to each other. At one point the man leaned over to the woman and gave her a light kiss. Ordinarily Giuseppe would have smiled, obviously seeing a love that had lasted for a long time, but the cellist had made him curious.

Giuseppe would go home that night wondering about the odd couple he had seen that night, and the odd story that he had heard. Was there truth in what the cellist had said? The last image he had in his mind was once he had gotten while glancing back to the couple when he had gotten a chance, which happened to be during the song "Poor Fool, he makes me Laugh." The entire audience had been guffawing at the antics of the characters on stage, but the couple seemed to have a specific memory involving this song, for they were gazing into each other's eyes. The woman had taken the man's hand; he had given a visible sigh, and said a soft word to her. She had nodded, and rested her head on his shoulder. That was the image Giuseppe carried to bed with him—one of utter comfort and happiness with the other, with harrowing experiences behind them, and an understanding and love between them that was monumental.

**Happiness for all! OK, I know that got a little maudlin at the end, but I feel that it warranted it. I hope you have all enjoyed this tale, and thanks to all my reviewers for making me so very happy. If anyone else would like to review, I would be happy to hear what anyone and everyone has to say. Thank you all!**


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